


O' Broken Shell

by BepisPerfected



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:33:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29561259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BepisPerfected/pseuds/BepisPerfected
Summary: A worshiper of a grand and incomprehensible crustacean seeks out a heresy against his maleficent cosmic deity.





	O' Broken Shell

//O’ Broken Shell, O’ Ash-Stained Claw,

//Outcast ours, be joyous in exile!

//Build your home from the glade of our love,

//Nestle softly in the ruins of our world!

We Heralds of the [ CRAB ] are welcoming to all. Those who enter our embrace rarely leave, for they see no reason. We offer respite for the weary, the dying, the woeful. Our fires are bright and our members are happy. We are not peaceful, for there is seldom time anymore for such frivolousness. But we are happy, and that we can offer freely.

So many perished upon enactment of the Glory, yet we have remained behind for those that persevered. They wash up upon the dry shores of the rubblelands that surround the Cathedralseum, muttering of pain and horror, though paradoxically are often nonbelievers. We receive them always, but it troubles me greatly. How can we bring them all into the hateful cradle of the [ CRAB ] if they know not of [ HIM ]? How can they be immolated in kindness if they have not traced the bounds of their own carapace?

I resolved to seek guidance from our leader, the Half-Burnt Prelate, who dwells in the Pit of the Cathedralseam. When I arrived the theater was occupied, so I joined the crowds to watch the holy proceedings. Below us in the pit were two opposing fighters. I noticed one of them had been ordained by the ritual nails hammered into his arms and back, one for each victory. He was a giant compared to his opponent, a leaner combatant with a long raggedy mantle draped on his back. Above them, the Half-Burnt Prelate sat upon his throne, surveying the pair as a predator bird regards a twitch in the grass. To either side of him hung the carcasses of heretic fighters who had failed in this sacred act, flayed open so their ribs were exposed. They were his wings built of bone and gore, signifiers of his holiness.

The two warriors clashed relentlessly, the larger with a cudgel made of cement impaled by an iron bar, no doubt salvaged from the rubblelands of the toppled tower-cities, and the smaller brandishing a knife built of scrap plates screwed together. Nails surged forward with all the fury might may muster, his namesake sprayed bright red in blood with each movement of his heaving muscles, but his weapon only splashed uselessly in the sands. Mantle leapt and darted for his neck, but failed to strike true, sailing over his shoulder and rolling to recover with his arms splayed for balance. He spun to face his opponent as he heaved the hammer over his head, shredding the air with the downswing and smashing Mantle’s left arm to powder. The impact dragged him down into the sand and left his limb crumpled in a pile with no form to speak of. Nails raised the cudgel over his head and loosed a primal bark.

//Psalm 9:63 [ THAT WHICH CAN BE BROKEN MUST BE ] [ EVOLUTION PROCEEDS THROUGH THE EXPLOITATION OF FAULT ] [ THAT WHICH CANNOT BE BROKEN IS GOOD AND TO BE LOVED FOREVER ]

The crowd cheered. It had been a good fight, and all could see it. As the mantled fighter lay shivering on the ground, his face contorted into a smile. His jaw was clenched so tightly that his teeth shuddered and popped from the pressure, and he bellowed a scream that lived in the space between agony and euphoria. Then his head dropped back, and it was unclear if he was still breathing. Yes, a very good fight indeed.

After the pit had been cleared and the crowd dispersed, I approached the Half-Burnt Prelate, making sure to perform the required rituals to appease him beforehand.

“Arise, child.” He rasped.

I wept briefly, for I had been blessed with a response, but hastened to compose myself so I may not squander this opportunity.

“O’ singed one, I am in turmoil. There are so many who do not know of our abhorrent Lord or reject the pleasure outright! How may I touch those out of reach, and speak to those who have removed their own ears?”

The Half-Burnt Prelate nodded, for he understood the pain associated with injecting care towards others. “Find those who have come to us: the willing, the prisoners, the lost. Spar with them on the courtyard of discourse. Refine their resolve on the grindstone of scripture. Hone the edge, wield the blade. Our armory must remain stocked.”

I thanked him for his wisdom and departed for the reception halls. I waded in between the beggars and the dying, anointing each one with promises of desolation, utter and unending. As I repeated this prayer upon a sickly crone, however, she heaved and spat with vigor unbecoming of her mangled frame.

“Truth! Truth! Do not patronize me with truth!”

I was shocked by her reaction, and I bid her explain what had upset her so.

“Do not mock me, you stupid monotheist! I know there is another.”

“Impossible. Who has told you these lies? I demand to know!”

At this, she laughed. “Liars, of course! Out beyond the horizon, past the setting moon!”

I was stunned by her insolence, so I grabbed the nearest object and beat her with it until she stopped moving. I did not want her to spread this blasphemy to others, but her silence did little to calm my own thoughts. Yet again I returned to the Prelate.

“O’ scorched regent, I am in agony! I offered them love, and they repaid me with doubts! I heard of a twin power to our high worship, and I do not possess the strength to evict it from my mind. Please, let your words be my salve: does such a thing exist?”

“Indeed.” He exhaled, with great effort. “From the writhing abyss two beings were birthed: Our Magistrate of Embers, and the corrupt lovely beast, antithesis embodied. But despair not, for our Lord is Mighty beyond Might. Behold.” From beneath his ceremonial robes, the Prelate raised one of his arms. A thick chitinous growth had overtaken his entire forearm, with blisters of shell pocking the rest of his exposed flesh. “Our devotion is rewarded. Let this be your proof of faith.”

I cried out in glory of our Generous Subjugator and thanked the Prelate for my witness. However, this show of [ HIS ] power only intensified my desire to find the liars and their beast. Surely, if they could see what I had, they would accept the inherent primacy of [ HIM ] above all others.

//P$@lm 4:18 [ DECEPTION IS THE GAMBIT OF THE WEAK ] [ TRICKERY IS AN INDICATION OF INABILITY ] [ NO {lie} CAN EXCEED MIGHT IN THE PURSUIT OF SURPEMACY ] {you will fall and never know it}

Thus it was that I left the safety of the Cathedralseum and journeyed out into the rubblelands. For days I walked under the guidance of the harsh and blazing sun. Bereft of food and water, I wandered in a state of delirium through the deserts and the ruins of the world that came before. I do not know how long I strayed, but one dusk under the light of the moon I stumbled upon the liar’s sanctuary.

They brought me in and received me like a beggar. They fawned over me, tracing lines through the dirt that caked my skin and calling it art. I did not have the strength to escape as they nursed me back to clarity, nor when they left me at the mercy of the coven mother.

I found myself alone in a chamber with a shrine in the center, rising out of a shallow pool filled with round stones that glowed pale blue. No fires burned here, and there was no smoke in my lungs. Truly this was some deeply unholy place.

One of the tapestries on the walls unfurled and revealed the figure of a woman. Her robes were soft and a thick fur collar draped her shoulders. Her hair was tidy and lacked proper grime, adorned by a laurel of two long feathers. She opened her eyes, huge and black like tunnels bored to the night sky.

“You.” I managed to wheeze. “You are the fountain of lies.”

She nodded, and I hated her. “No word leaves my lips that is not fabrication. Interpretation. Perspective. It is the way of minds to recontextualize information.” {To think is to lie}

“My faith protects me from your anti-sense.”

Her voice echoed through the chamber as though she was merely one of an unseen chorus. “You revere objectivity, unaware it is a false prophet. We have been freed from such limitations.”

“By what demon? The lovely beast?”

The coven mother exalted, throwing off her robes and exposing the chitin shell that had grown over her entire body. Her laurels uncoiled into a pair of antennae and great wings stretched from her back. I fell to my knees and begged to know what had forced such a vile transmogrification. Instead she told me of the {moth}.

//Sorrowful sister, O' grace, O' {moth}

//Her beauty lies in the truths she evades 

//Listen, brother, for her fury is polite

//She will hunt him with love and tear out his teeth

In the beginning, there was one great and intangible force with one singular purpose: to exceed. All the cosmic toys of matter were contained within the infinite body, created simply so that the force may surpass them. In time, two rules emerged from this primordium: expansion and consolidation, who carved dominions in the interactions of mass and played their respective parts in the creation and destruction of all things. Their conflict was balance, and it was good.

The powers dictated that gas would become stars would become gas, and the movement of their energy through space gave rise to first thought. The second thought was envy.

Why should its forerunner reserve the right alone to be more? By what axiom was Pride a privilege?

It aimed the heresy of conceptualization at that which had conceived it, and defined it forevermore as ( W o r m ). Thus it was that its Father was limited, bound, constrained. The infinite had become finite.

The ( W o r m ) was so weakened by this rending of reality that it could do nothing when it turned this blasphemy upon itself, deemed [ CRAB ], and its inverse {moth}. Fearing the wrath of [ HIS ] father, the [ CRAB ] fled, for [ HIS ] shell had yet to harden.

Thus the shucked and rotting ( W o r m ) called upon the daughter to be its arbiter, for {she} was loyal and deluded, and sent {her} to bring the Son to justice. It was {she} who broke the shell, spat fire from [ HIS ] bones, and painted [ HIS ] claws with ash. The [ CRAB ] persists in spite.

/n/7DTjb>999 [ THE MYTH OF GENTLE PERSUATION IS INHIBITING ] [ NO PROGRESS CAN BE MADE WITHOUT THE REJECTION OF THAT WHICH CAME BEFORE ] {kill thy father} {hunt thy son}

I remained within the sanctuary for as long as I dared, sipping of their nectar and revelling in the intoxication of being beyond assurance. My pearlescent shell continues to expand.

At every waking moment I wished to speak with the coven mother, but our meetings were few and far between. I searched for answers, so she would change the questions. Her connection to her lady surpassed that of even the Prelate’s aspirations.

“That story you told, of the twins and their decaying creator. Where first did you hear it?”

“Whispered by our lady.”

“Then how can you say it was not a lie as well?”

Her smile was hollow and gorgeous. “Oh, it certainly is! We are a chain, each link more disconnected from our anchor. Her to me, me to you, you to another. Each one even more untrue! Recount my tale and watch the incongruencies fester!”

“How can you delight in her divinity if you know nothing of it?”

“The Brother gains favor from the exploitation of the body. Your joyous pit fights attempt to emulate His savagery. In turn, worship of our lady is derived from the struggles of the mind. To seek her and fail is worship. Misinterpretation is devotion! It is her diadem, and she wears it well.”

//direct M/com: frag.00781a: {strength is the philosophy of prey} {the largest creatures subsist upon the smallest things.ref(ideology)} {predation begets intelligence} {intelligence begets supremacy}

I can no longer deny my own corruption. My every thought is of the {moth}; I cannot expel {her} from my brain. Once I was an ardent follower of the [crab], but I fear I have been led astray. My heart aches with love for {her}, but I cannot place the source of the pain. In my desperation for forgiveness, I have returned to the Cathedralseum. I will offer myself to [him] in the pit. I will let them grind my body to dust and crush my brain to splinters. I will suffocate myself under [his] greatness.

Let not the [ CRAB ] be rebuked once more.


End file.
